


i miss you.

by mellowly



Series: lietpol week 2018 [7]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Grief/Mourning, Loneliness, Lost Love, M/M, Partitions of Poland, Past Relationship(s), Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-17 08:47:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13655550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellowly/pseuds/mellowly
Summary: poland is so very gone.lithuania is so very alone.(or: how not to cope at all.)





	i miss you.

**Author's Note:**

> for lietpol week day 7. prompt was: historical.

**somewhere in poland, autumn 1799**

* * *

 

He keeps making tea. 

  
It's the little things, after all, the little tiny memories for years and years and  _ years _ and   
He still dreams at night. The bloodstains, the dark night sky, the aching gaping hole in his chest and when he sticks his hand inside there's only snow and ash and he  _ screams _

_ why are you gone come back please i need you i need you- _

He keeps making tea. In the samovar, proper Polish fashion, milk and two sugars so he can fool himself into thinking the love-memory of a glint of blond hair is anything but a memory and a dream. He's still got the ribbon, God how idiotic (he's not coming back he's _never_ coming back).   
Lithuania pours the tea this morning all the same, it's ten o'clock and he plops the sugar cubes in. There are soldiers outside. They've been here a while, and they won't leave, and Lithuania is beginning to wonder how long this will go on. How long will this go on? How long? Forever?

 

_ forever, Polska, that's a long, long time _

_ psh yeah i know that's the point _

_ really?  _

_ yeah. we'll be together forever _

 

He stirs his tea. Clockwise for good luck. He leaves the spoon in too, a clink against the edge of fine china that's as pale and thin as Poland's skin in the winters.   
Po always had such cold hands.   
He has to get up and close the window now, there's a draft, and now Poland would never allow that, maybe he'd scold him and say-

"Come with us."

So perhaps his reflexes aren't what they used to be, then. Lithuania turns, polite, bidding the officer good morning and that he wait. Just wait, a little bit- Sir, you have to wait.  
We always take late breakfast, see, and I- 

Rye bread and honey doesn't taste nearly as good with a gun to his head, Lithuania realises, and only forces himself to eat because Russia had gloated on how Poland had begged for something to eat, all skin and bone and wretched sickness at the very very end. Lithuania feels the urge to hit something. Perhaps himself.

 

 

The tea goes down the drain along with the single tear Lithuania allows to fall. 

_ don't go don't go no polska no no no god no _

 

He turns, polite, to the good officer and tells him

_ Let's go. There is nothing for me here now. _

 

 

Lithuania dares not look back as they take him away, but he smells smoke and knows that it's all being burned. He can see the pyre, now, closing his eyes. The bright fire where he should've been, the angel, the martyr, screaming to the sky to the very last, beautiful and glorious. 

He knows every single letter burned there himself, after sorting it all, dragging his hands over stale old ink and imagining the love within it.

 

He stops making tea.

  
  



End file.
